


what is and what should never be

by nightstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightstiel/pseuds/nightstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The alarm rings at 8 a.m. precisely – the jagged tunes of guitar, Ramble On. Of course. Most people wouldn’t set one of their favourite songs as an alarm clock ringtone, but Dean does. He’s always grateful to wake up, shake off the nightmares, ever so frequent, even if it’s been better - -but for all he knows, it will never be quite okay. An 8.20 prediction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what is and what should never be

**Author's Note:**

> Possible spoilers regarding 8.20 MOTW! My speculation and headcanon joined to make this drabble.

The alarm rings at 8 a.m. precisely – the jagged tunes of guitar,  _Ramble On_. Of course. Most people wouldn’t set one of their favourite songs as an alarm clock ringtone, but Dean does. He’s always grateful to wake up, shake off the nightmares, ever so frequent, even if it’s been better - -but for all he knows, it will never be quite okay.

He gives the window a cursory glance – line of salt intact. It always is, has been for a long time, but old habits don’t die easily. With heart at ease, he breathes in deep, slowly out. He’s learned to appreciate this, how the sun shines in patches at the tangled sheets, a warm imprint of a half of a night sleepless, but for all the right reasons. He smacks the figure next to him roughly in the area where a person’s ass would be.

 

“Get up, grumpy.” A muffled groan follows, cocoon of blankets tightening. Dean shakes his head, a shadow of a smile on his lips and runs a hand across his cheek—still good to go, no need to shave. On his way to the bathroom he picks up a blue tie from a floor on his way to the bathroom and flings it to the bed, where it lands on a mop of dark hair.  _Jackpot._

Dean likes his kitchen. It’s old and worn and not modern at all, the microwave the only appliance less than a decade old, but he loves the feel of tarnished, bleak wooden hardfloor on his bare feet. He makes coffee; black, one sugar, keeps looking at his watch as he drinks it leaning against the counter. There are no trinkets and useless stuff; but the angel and demon warding sigils on the dirty glass can pass as alternative window decorations. He cracks his toes, makes some waffle dough. Finishes his coffee, lukewarm by now.

“Hey, sleeping beauty! Charlie’s gonna be here any minute now, get your ass down here”, he yells in the vaguely upstairs direction but hears no stir. Instead, the doorbell rings. A quick glance upwards – devil’s trap still in place. You never know.

He hugs Charlie and holds her close; he’s learned to after one loss to many. She looks well and he tells her that; likewise. Domestic bliss suits them both.

“ Cas still sleeping?” Dean smiles, cracks around his eyes blossoming.

“Yeah, well, you know how he is in the morning.”

“Maybe if you let him sleep at night he’d have an easier time getting up,” she says, winking at him.

“I’ll go get him. I’ll kick him out of bed if I have to,” and this is when Dean’s face falls, and Charlie’s does too—a blood is dripping from the steps, rich and fresh and reeking of death and the world sways. Sunny, Sunday afternoon dissolves into a warehouse and meathooks and pain.

\--

It’s an afterward, an in-between when the djinn is but mere ashes in the woods and they are soon to part ways again. A sad boy and a sad girl sit on bar stools and beer is long gone, having been replaced by whisky. Charlie doesn’t like it much, but the burn in her throat seems adequate, like a comfort extended to Dean. And who knows—the ways things are going, she might need that eventually just as much.

Inevitably, he asks her, voice tentative and guarded, eyes fixed on the sign –  _El Sol_ in neon lights – behind the counter.  _“What did you see?”_

She lies.

She lies about hacking into the CIA database to impress Scarlett Johansson, even if she doesn’t need to because Scarlett is rolling on the bed in nothing but black lingerie anyway. But she can be a little show off, right? She leaves a Nyan-cat on the main page of their website. She might actually do that, one day.

“Well, that’s it. There are things that are and those that should never be,” he says. “Though you might want to work on that Scarlett thing, you never know.”

Charlie knows in that moment she’s not a hero; a hero would take Dean’s bullshit and make him face it head-on. But she’s scared and she realizes he’s not her to save. The relief in his shoulders washed down by what remained in the glass is worth it and a consolation at the same time. 


End file.
